


Porn Poetry

by orphan_account



Series: It Never Gets Old [1]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Blowjobs, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Smut, filming while getting frisky, home made porno I guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 16:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12236523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's Sunday morning, and Isak and Even are both lazy and horny. (But what else is new?)





	Porn Poetry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LiliMane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiliMane/gifts).



> Ok so this is 0% plot and just 100% porn.
> 
> And uuuuhhhhhh I usually don't write stuff like this EVER but this is [LiliMane's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LiliMane/pseuds/LiliMane) fault like always. Is it weird to write porn for your friends? Nahhh....
> 
> I don't like words like dick and jizz and ass so you won't find any of that here, hence the title.

They usually fall asleep pressed together as close as possible, drifting away only in their slumber due to body heat or blanket hogging or arms fuzzy from lack of circulation. But if Isak wakes up in the middle of the night, which usually happens several times, a spare limb or two always hooks back to Even—not a moment wasted without skin on skin.

So that’s why, when Isak’s eyes start to flutter open in the Sunday morning light, he can tell Even is already awake—his face buried in the soft spot of Isak’s neck with both arms wrapped around his middle—one long leg extended with the other folded up over Isak’s.

He starts to place kisses there, causing Isak to first squeeze his shoulders up first (because it tickles) and then to stretch it out, his face falling away from Even’s to give him as much room as possible. Because it feels fucking fantastic. Even’s kisses burning all his hot spots, each one driving him a little further into oblivion.

Isak doesn’t think he’s opened his eyes yet—has only fluttered his pupils front—still behind eyelids—into an awake position. Which is a shame, really, because Even’s kisses and tiny nibbles and— _oh, okay, maybe a little tongue is happening too_ —all over are starting to feel so good, he knows if his eyes were open, they’d fall closed at the pleasure of this feeling.

There are warm hands now too, one slipping out from under his back to fist at his curls, pulling lightly (but not _too_ lightly) so Isak’s head is forced to lean all the way back. The other is playing with the waistband of his boxers.

Isak turns on his side, causing Even’s lips to leave his neck as he faces him—his hair still being combed by Even’s fingers. “Halla,” Isak whispers, pushing his body all the way flush with Even’s and not even waiting for a response before he leans in for a kiss.

Which soon turns breathy and lazy. Hidden with tiny lip bites and soft tongues dancing every once and awhile. But mostly it’s just lips, the sensation itself accentuated with hands roaming everywhere. Light drags of fingernails over Even’s back. More hair tugging (which Isak likes way too much). And hips pressed together—their thighs slipping deliciously between each other’s as they rock a little. If this happens for much longer, Isak thinks he could get off in a few minutes.

But he doesn’t want that yet. So he’s teasing Even by rolling him over to straddle him with both legs comfortably at his sides.

Even rocks his hips up at the loss of contact, but Isak scoots up further on his tummy to not allow him the satisfaction. He smiles into the kiss then, when Even’s moan is one more of annoyance than pleasure.

“Don’t,” Isak whispers, popping off and placing his palm lightly to the side of Even’s forehead, guiding his face to the right and pressing his cheek into the pillow to allow Isak every inch of his neck.

Isak loves to turn Even into a mess under him. Unfurling all his long limbs into relaxed, writhing melodies that seem to have lost the beat—reaching for Isak with seemingly no purpose other than to put his hands on him. Right now they’re on the back of Isak’s thighs, moving up to his hips to try to push him down.

But Isak just smiles into that as well, because he’s stronger than Even, and it’s fun to tease him.

“I said don’t,” Isak repeats over the kiss, a lip bite at the end that means he’s serious.

One of Even’s hands drags slowly all the way up Isak’s thigh, palming him over his boxers because apparently, he’s getting impatient.

Even’s the one supposed to be coming undone right now, but Isak can’t help but weaken at his touch—a small gasp he tries to suppress only coming out higher and more desperate than he wanted it to.

Which now makes Even smile into the kiss. His hand leaving and dragging the rest of the way up Isak’s torso, stopping at his neck to lightly dig his fingernails into before fisting into his curls once again. This time, with force. His hand makes it’s way to the top of Isak’s head, scratching the scalp before giving a light push.

“No,” Isak whines, breaking off entirely and rolling off Even to flop onto his back. He makes grabby hands at him, asking for Even to get on top of him now and showing him just how turned on he really is by slinking both of his thighs around Even’s and pressing.

It feels way too good.

“Please,” Isak whispers, pressing again and biting his lip—eyes open and sparkling at Even. He knows this look is his weakness.

“But I want to see those blonde curls and pretty green eyes between my thighs,” Even murmurs over Isak’s neck—which he has now ducked down to, probably to avoid Isak’s sex eyes. It sounds like porn poetry.

Isak claps his hands, one in a fist resting on top of his open palm. 

Even jerks up at the sound, looking first at Isak and then down at his hands, a small smile and a raised eyebrow at just how ridiculous his boyfriend is. “Are you challenging me to a game of rock paper scissors? For a blowjob?”

Isak just bites his lip, opens his eyes wide, and gives his ready hands a little wiggle. “Best two out of three,” Isak presses.

Even rolls his eyes, readying his hands to start. “On three?” He asks.

Isak takes it hook, line, and sinker, bringing back the words he knows might get Even off just from the memory. “No, on one.”

Even melts. A sigh—a fond one, like he might just let Isak win anyway. 

They slam their fists three times into their palms. Even throws rock and Isak throws paper, granting him the first round.

Again. Even throws scissors, Isak throws rock, giving him victory right away.

If Even’s upset, he surely doesn’t show it. Instead, he waggles his eyebrows at Isak, puts a palm to his chest to sink him back into the mattress, and kisses his way down his torso—covering himself with the duvet when he gets to Isak’s thighs.

“No,” Isak says, whipping the fabric back and onto the floor. “I want to look at you.”

Maybe that was a mistake, because now Even is making a show of it. He’s spread out all the way now—his stomach flat against the bed with his face right along Isak’s waist—kissing Isak’s hip bone with soft lips and a few bites. His hands are on Isak’s sides, and they slip behind him, dragging all the way from his lower back to the top part of the back of Isak’s thighs, and, with a quick pull, drags Isak down so his knees bend into the air and his back is completely flat against the mattress.

He makes a little sound. Somewhere between a whimper and a groan, which then intensifies as Even reaches one hand into his boxers and touches him—lips still glued to his hip but slowly making their way lower.

This alone already causes a fire to burn somewhere deep in Isak’s stomach—his head light and buzzing with the lack of blood. He wants to watch, though. He lifts his head, legs still in the air and bent at the knee while he props himself up on his elbows and Even brings his hand up to pull Isak’s boxers down. He lifts his hips to let him, their eyes meeting: ocean blue and forest green.

Isak bites his lip when Even’s hand returns to touch him—moving up and down slowly—and Isak tries with all his might to keep watching and not throw his head back in complete ecstasy. Which, he’s glad he’s strong enough to do, because Even’s mouth sinking down around him and looking into his eyes without a single blink might be the hottest thing Isak’s ever witnessed. Okay, scratch that—Even taking him in his mouth all the way to the base— _coming back up_ until the tip of his tongue is close enough to twirl around the tip of _him_ —is the hottest thing he’s ever witnessed.

A hand comes to help Isak along, the fire in his stomach full blaze. But it’s extinguished quickly when Isak loses all contact, Even releasing him completely to kiss his way back up Isak’s thighs.

“Even,” Isak pants, hands searching for something—Even’s hair, probably—to steer him back. And he does, but only for the fire to build again slowly as Even teases him with his tongue. Sweeping it all the way up Isak and back down again—refusing to use his whole mouth while Isak squirms beneath him. “Please,” he begs again.

Even obliges. Just once, though. Just putting his lips all the way around Isak one time—all the way down and then all the way up again before he continues teasing—popping off and curling his tongue around the tip of Isak.

And Isak almost cries—that fire blazing and then settling while all of his nerves dance in anticipation.

“C’mere,” Even whispers, reaching a hand up to grab Isak’s and drag it down. “Touch yourself.”

Isak does, mostly because he’s so desperate. It doesn’t feel anywhere near as good, but that fire burns again when he watches Even enjoy the show—pupils blown and cheeks red and lips wet and swollen. 

He sinks again, and when Isak goes to remove his hand, Even stops him. Even parts his lips and takes Isak all the way in his mouth, and Isak’s hand is now at the base of Even’s lips. Even hums, and _god that feels good,_ so when he starts to go back up, cheeks tight and lips soft, Isak moves his own hand up with him. 

Even shuffles a bit to lift his hips, and he looks up at Isak—at Isak touching himself with Even’s mouth around him. And Isak really can’t watch anymore, because the sight of Even using his free hand to reach between his own legs and touch _himself_ now is too much. Isak’s going to come on the spot in a matter of seconds.

Even can probably sense this, so he pops off. His hand doesn’t stop on himself though, and Isak can’t stop looking. Or stop touching himself, for that matter. Everything slick from Even’s mouth and _ugh._ Isak really should stop because he has a different place in mind to come rather than in his own hand.

“Can I?” Even’s asking, reaching over the side table for his phone.

Isak nods. He’s used to this, and, admittedly, he loves it. Loves that Even probably pulls up these videos when Isak’s gone and moans his name with his hand around himself like he is now. Isak makes sure to make extra noises. To move more. To look into the camera.

So Even grabs his phone, points it right at Isak, and lets him work on himself for a few moments before Even’s face is giving it all away. He keeps the video rolling, shoves his phone into Isak’s hand with a _keep going_ curl of the finger, and gets back in between Isak’s legs.

“I feel like the winner,” Even mumbles with blue eyes up to Isak, _smiling_ around him before he sinks down again.

This time for good. He moves slowly at first, making sure to unravel Isak until he is a panting mess—gripping at the sheets with one hand and rutting his hips up into Even’s mouth.

Even takes his free hand and holds Isak’s, pinning it to the bed.

And Isak’s able to maybe get thirty seconds of footage—who knows if it’s even got either of them in the shot, to be honest, before he tosses the phone onto the duvet and curls his fingers into Even’s hair. His hand moves with Even’s head, and Isak’s hips mimic the motion.

Isak’s saying Even’s name over and over again, fire twisting something fierce in his stomach. He can barely get the words out anymore. Even’s name shortening to _Ev_ and pretty soon Isak’s just panting _Eh_ with stunted breaths as his whole lower body makes a small twitch.

He’s trying to tell Even. Trying to tell him what’s about to happen so he can make a decision, but all Isak can stutter out is, “I’m—”

Even seems to get it, though. He knows what’s about to happen. He steadies his pace, hand and cheeks and lips tightening ever so slightly to let Isak know he’s not about to move. And then he looks up.

And, yep, that’s what does it. That’s what sends Isak right over the edge—the fire in his belly dissipating as white-hot flashes paint pictures on the back of his eyelids when he throws his head back. Mouth open and knees buckling and hands reaching for Even.

Who's still all the way around him. Smiling like he fucking enjoys it. Because he does, really. Enjoys Isak unraveling from his fingers to his toes right into Even’s mouth.

Isak can hear again, which is a strange sensation that comes to him, seeing as he was never aware he couldn’t hear in the first place. Everything ringing loud as he opens his eyes and blood finally starts pulsing through his whole body, not just a part of it. His limbs tingle with the sensation.

Even steadies himself on his knees, wipes his mouth, and bounds towards Isak with a big smile, landing on top of him and kissing his way from Isak’s neck to his chin to the corners of his mouth. Being careful.

But Isak doesn’t care. Never has. He loves it, actually, so he takes Even’s chin in his hand and makes him kiss him square on the mouth, tongue and all.

Even smiles into the kiss, leaning down on his side and cuddling close to Isak—both naked and a little sweaty.

Isak can feel all his limbs against him. Pointy elbows and heavy thighs and... how _very_ turned on Even still is.

“Turn over,” Isak demands, placing a palm to Even’s chest and rolling him on his back. “It’s your turn.”


End file.
